This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

Fifteen stood quietly outside the gates of the Elven Royal Palace. The broken sword had already been handed over, and matters of compensation had also been settled afterward with Saryan.

Now all that remained was to wait for the elves to send someone to guide him out of the forest.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know the way—rather, as an outsider, he was not permitted to travel alone through the forests of Ishildor.

After all, unlike his master, he did not possess the privilege of freely entering and leaving elven territory.

Rustle—

Thinking back on what he had seen and heard earlier, he couldn’t help clicking his tongue.

That Galadriel would actually weep because of his master… before this, Fifteen had never known that there was such a relationship between his master and Galadriel.

But it also helped him understand why borrowing the sword back then had been so effortless.

If Galadriel could become his shiniang [martial master’s wife], Fifteen felt that wouldn’t be bad at all.

Rustle—

Unfortunately, his master had already died on the battlefield, and all such hypotheticals were now empty talk.

Fifteen was deeply grieved as well, but having been tempered by life in the army, he could still manage his emotions.

If he indulged in grief, then even if his master were to revive, he would scold him for being useless.

Rustle—

“Number Nine, can you stop playing with my hair?” Fifteen finally said helplessly.

Sitting on Fifteen’s head and braiding his hair, Number Nine sheepishly withdrew its tentacles.

After waiting so long, the little guy was bored out of its mind.

A thought-stone sat beneath the puji’s backside, which they used to communicate.

“By the way, the war’s over now. Are you still going to keep following me like this?”

“What kind of question is that? We’re partners! Think about earlier—when we worked together and slaughtered those demons until they were throwing away their helmets and armor. We’re unbeatable as a team! You’re not thinking of ditching me, are you? I was the one who saved you before!”

Given the mushroom race’s current importance, Fifteen naturally had no intention of abandoning it. The question had just been casual.

And although Number Nine’s claim of being “unbeatable as a team” was debatable, the fact that it had saved Fifteen’s life was undeniably true.

When Wrath destroyed Tri-Mountain City, the shockwave alone—despite not being aimed at Fifteen—had grievously injured him when he tried to charge forward, knocking him unconscious and burying him beneath the rubble.

It was Number Nine that dug his head out and used various toxins to stimulate his bodily functions, allowing him to hold on until others arrived to rescue him.

Although the price was several days of severe diarrhea while seriously injured, there was no disputing that Number Nine had saved his life.

Realizing he had misspoken, Fifteen tried to change the subject. “Going back to your homeland—aren’t you happy?”

Fifteen had always assumed Number Nine was born in the forest.

“What’s there to be happy about?” Its tentacle casually pointed at an elven guard standing watch nearby. “This place is full of little weaklings who’ve never even been on a battlefield. Totally boring. Let’s hurry back—didn’t you say the fighting in the west is still fierce? Let’s go over there and slaughter those demons! Hahahaha!”

Number Nine’s mycelium tentacles trembled wildly as it already began fantasizing about commanding Fifteen to rampage across the battlefield.

The person guiding Fifteen finally arrived—it was an old acquaintance, Eko.

Hearing the arrogant laughter Ekoing through the fungal network, Eko glanced at Number Nine a few extra times.

As they traveled through the City of Trees, the sight of two figures with puji perched atop their heads drew frequent sidelong glances from passing elves.

One elven girl who kept a puji as a pet watched their retreating backs, tilted her head in thought, and then imitated them—gently lifting her own puji onto the top of her head…

Fifteen’s return journey went smoothly. With Number Nine around, he didn’t even need to worry about finding puji.

As for the monsters in the shallow layers of the Strawman Abyss, they posed no threat to Fifteen at all. In fact, even Number Nine could handle these bloodless straw creatures on its own.

That was, until they were about to pass through the Strawman Abyss—when they encountered that puji carrying twin swords on its back.

The Sword Saint had wandered outside for a while and, after learning that humanity had temporarily weathered the crisis, began fulfilling his agreement with Lin Jun. Accompanied by Number Five, he had entered the web tunnels and arrived near the Strawman Abyss.

Number Five couldn’t descend into the Strawman Abyss, so it naturally didn’t follow the Sword Saint inside. Instead, it mimicked a rock and blocked the tunnel entrance, obediently waiting for him to return.

The Sword Saint entered the Strawman Abyss alone.

In truth, even Lin Jun wasn’t sure whether the Sword Saint, in his current state, would be affected by him and be unable to descend deeper—but letting him try didn’t cost anything.

What the Sword Saint clearly hadn’t expected was to run into his own disciple the moment he entered!

By their agreement, he couldn’t reveal his identity, and naturally couldn’t acknowledge Fifteen.

But Elvien had never been the sentimental type. Whether they recognized each other or not didn’t matter—seeing with his own eyes that Fifteen was safe was enough.

However, Fifteen and Number Nine on the opposite side felt completely different.

“It looks like mushroom race, but also not mushroom race—who the hell are you?!” Number Nine shouted loudly in the fungal network.

When the Sword Saint puji was born, Number Nine hadn’t been present, and Lin Jun hadn’t thought to inform it either.

In Number Nine’s view, something with this appearance could only be mushroom race—but it couldn’t sense the usual soul resonance between mushroom kin, which left it confused.

Fifteen, meanwhile, directly drew his twin swords.

No other reason—this puji exerted far too much pressure.

It was clearly just a short-legged puji, yet standing there, Fifteen felt he couldn’t find a single opening.

Even his 【Qi Sense】 was warning him that if he didn’t draw his weapons first, and this puji suddenly attacked, he might never get another chance to do so.

Although reason told Fifteen that this judgment was absurd, a man who had brushed against death multiple times in his life chose to trust his instincts at the critical moment.

The Sword Saint had originally planned to leave directly, but seeing his disciple acting as if facing a mortal enemy, he suddenly changed his mind.

This puji body was only knight-tier, and compared to his original body, its raw attributes were certainly inferior.

But it also possessed abilities he had never had before, with no small differences.

Moreover, since obtaining this puji body, he had never truly gone all out, leaving his understanding of his own strength somewhat vague.

Ignorance of oneself was not a good thing.

After seeing Fifteen, the more he looked, the more suitable he felt.

Suitable as his sandbag.

No—that phrasing wasn’t appropriate.

As a master, even reborn as a puji, he should properly guide this disappointing disciple.

And besides—being ridden on the head by a puji was an utter disgrace to his reputation.

On the other side—

Fifteen stared intently at the mysterious puji and asked Number Nine in a low voice, “Is it really your kin?”

“Uh… probably… maybe… I guess?” Number Nine wasn’t sure either, but since the other party was connected to the fungal network, it had to be one of their own. “Anyway, there’s no danger—don’t be so tens—”

Before it could finish, a sword shadow wrapped in crackling lightning tore through the air!

Fifteen urgently activated 【Flowing Step】 and slid backward, while Number Nine, caught off guard, tumbled into the grass from atop his head.

A charred sword mark was left where Fifteen had stood, arcs of electricity still sizzling.

“A puji wielding a skill weapon with lightning attributes?!”

Fifteen was immensely glad he had stayed alert—if he had been a moment slower and gotten paralyzed by the lightning, it would have been over.

“And this is what you call ‘no danger’?”

Number Nine bounced around in the grass, but separated from the thought-stone, whatever it said could no longer be heard by Fifteen.

And Fifteen had no time to worry about it now.

That sword-wielding puji was already charging toward him on its short legs!

Puji—